


A Good Dream

by bluebeholder



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Time, For Science!, Historically Accurate Undergarments, Lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: In which Newt has opinions about sexologists, Queenie has a first time, and both of them owe a lot to Ernst Gräfenberg.





	A Good Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatieHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/gifts).



> A personal challenge: could I write science-minded Newt using clinical terminology and still have it be hot? You be the judge if I succeeded or not!
> 
> This is also the single sappiest thing I’ve ever written. Full. Stop. Prepare for a frankly obscene amount of fluff, and get your toothbrushes ready, lest I rot your very TEETH with this. :3

“How on earth did we end up here?” Newt asks, even as he’s tumbling backwards onto the bed with Queenie following him down.

“Not the time for questions, sugar,” Queenie says, climbing forward and sitting astride him, already busy pulling at the buttons of his shirt.

Newt scrambles back a little, not quite pushing her off, but certainly fending off her advances on his shirt. It’s amazing that she’s the virgin and he’s the one utterly overwhelmed. “Wait, wait—it’s your first time, we ought to go slowly, I should take the time to stimulate you properly!”

“You can do that,” Queenie says, looking up at him through her lashes, “when you’ve got my clothes off. Now come _on_.”

He swallows his nerves and lets her pull him out of his shirt and unfasten his union suit to his waist. There she pauses, tracing the marks of the myriad scars that cross-hatch his body with delicate fingers. “You’ve lived such a life,” Queenie says dreamily.

“They’re not that attractive,” Newt says softly.

He’s braced on his elbows, looking up at her. It’s been an awfully long time since he’s done anything even remotely like this, and just now his body is paying full attention. Queenie has clearly noticed: she sits a little heavier on him and he bites his lip hard to keep from making any noise. “Yes, they are,” she says with a small, wicked grin. “You’re just gorgeous.”

Newt may be blushing. Trying not to overbalance on one side, he reaches up to carefully unfasten the buttons along the side of her dress. It’s not thrilling to do with only one hand, but he’s always been quite dexterous. The second he’s got the last button clear, Queenie pulls it off and tosses it aside gracefully. And that’s when Newt almost swallows his own tongue.

Her soft rayon step-in chemise, where it blouses above the top of her lace-edged corset, is a soft pink; the corset itself is ivory, laced tight from under her bust down to her hips, where the chemise falls free, a little crumpled where it’s crushed against her corset, sliding up her thighs. Garters stretch down from the corset to hold up the pale pink fishnets she wears, so subtle that Newt never really noticed them until now. As if by its own will, his hand comes to rest on her thigh, feeling the faint rasp of the stockings against the calluses of his palms.

“Mmm,” Queenie hums, rocking back and forth slightly, chemise sliding without friction over Newt’s still-on trousers. He bites down harder on his lip, pushing up a little as if he could make something happen. “Like that?”

Newt nods. “You—ah—you asked me to stimulate you, so—the most effective way is probably your G-spot—”

“My _what_ ,” Queenie says, staring down at him like he’s lost his mind.

“G-spot,” Newt repeats, tracing the zig-zag of her corset laces as he talks. “Gräfenberg described it as ‘an erotic zone that can always be demonstrated on the anterior wall of the vagina along the course of the urethra’. If properly stimulated during intercourse, it can—”

“Newt!” Queenie interrupts. “I don’t need all the science talk. If there’s a spot like that, then _hurry up and stimulate it_.”

He takes a moment to center himself. Newt knows, objectively, that he might be panicking, which is certainly less than ideal, since it will affect his ability to achieve erection and also to engage with Queenie properly as they move forward. He knows these things well: he’s a recipient of journals of sexology, just as a matter of scientific course. Still, he has good reason for nerves. After all—

“Hey. Look at me,” Queenie says. She tips his chin up with two fingers so he’s looking at her, instead of at her corset. “You ain’t gonna mess up. Just because you can pretend to be an animal real well, mating calls and pheromones and all that, don’t mean that you won’t be good with a human woman too.”

“And if I’m not?”

Queenie leans forward with some difficulty and kisses him gently on the lips. “Then I’ll still love you anyway, Newt Scamander. Now…you gonna do this, or what?”

Well, yes, he is. He rights them both, guiding Queenie back to lie against the pillows. She watches him with knowing eyes. There’s something quite comforting about knowing that she’s hearing all of his thoughts before he acts. He has very little to worry about in terms of bungling this up, so with a forwardness that only increases as she reciprocates, Newt leans in and kisses her again.

This time it’s not a gentle kiss, but something deeper. Here Queenie’s inexperience shows: no amount of mind-reading can adjust for a lack of practice. The angle of the kiss is wrong, leaving their noses bumping, and Newt tilts his head instinctively to adjust. A swipe of his tongue over her bottom lip has her shivering under his hands and when Newt draws back Queenie tries to follow. Her lips are a raspberry cupid’s bow, lipstick charmed to stay on; Queenie doesn’t often wear lipstick quite this dramatic but Newt finds himself tripping over himself even more when she does.

Newt wastes no more time. His nerves simply can’t take it. He sinks down between her legs and, without further ado, opens the snaps on the crotch of her chemise. Looking away from her—he simply _can’t_ hold her gaze at a moment like this—Newt rests his hands on her inner thighs for a moment, rubbing slow circles on her soft skin. Queenie shifts, sighing; Newt would rather like to hear more from her.

Ever so slowly, ears pricked for sound and attentive to her body language, Newt drags one finger down slowly between her labia, feeling how wet she is already. Of course he’s sure that she’s explored herself thoroughly, she’d been quite forward in telling him that, but—

“It is different when it’s someone else,” Queenie says. She’s holding the headboard behind her with one hand. Is she—“I’m not uncomfortable, it’s just—different, is all.”

“You’re quite all right,” Newt says, trying to be reassuring and also trying to banish the clinical terms which usually serve to comfort him. It’s the moment to make good on those earlier promises of stimulation—her clitoris is hard and she jerks when his finger brushes over it. There’s a satisfaction in seeing some field proof of the importance of this little bundle of nerves. All those men who scoff at women just to prove their own inadequacy don’t deserve to be called ‘scientists’.

“Ah—explain that, would you,” Queenie says breathlessly, hips rocking up to meet his hand.

Newt keeps one hand on her thigh, holding her still reassuringly, and the other occupied with rubbing circles around the small nub. Newt is entirely capable of rattling off a lecture while otherwise engaged, so he does. “Sigmund Freud is an idiot,” he says plainly. “He’d like us all to believe that women can only be really happy with penetration. As you can feel, the clitoris plays a major role—”

Queenie practically whines. “Forget I asked! Just—more, please, more—”

Color’s rising in her cheeks and she’s writhing a little, breathing fast, muscles trembling under Newt’s hand. His own body is beginning to take an active interest as his nerves take their exit from the stage; that’s quite all right by Newt. He thought he’d never get over himself.

He ignores the erection beginning to tent his trousers, though, in favor of paying full attention to Queenie. It’s finger and thumb, now, rolling, touching, even lightly scraping, and with every touch she goes higher. Newt loves seeing the way her eyes close tight, how both her hands are white-knuckled on the headboard. The sounds she makes, whines and needy breathless pleas, are driving him half to distraction. She’s impossibly beautiful in her sheer _want_ , having never been given reason for any kind of artifice or pretense in bed.

The orgasm hits her unexpectedly, and she arches up off the bed with a stricken moan. Newt shudders at the sound, feeling hot all over. He pulls away, not wanting to overstimulate her, and waits as her breathing slows and the color drains a little from her face. She opens her eyes after a few moments, licks her lips, and smiles. “That was _perfect_.”

“Good,” Newt says with feeling.

“I don’t think I’m quite done yet, though,” Queenie says, blinking at him slowly. Every page of thought in Newt’s brain goes utterly blank as she slowly spreads her legs further, inviting. “And before you can ask, I’m all up on contraceptive charms, I ain’t stupid about this…now come on, I want you in me…”

At those words Newt wastes absolutely no time. He strips out of trousers and underclothes in an undignified haste, but manages to slow down as he leans over Queenie, who has just a flutter of nervousness in her posture. “We went quite slow, and you’re thoroughly ready,” he says, managing to briefly make eye contact with her.

An idea occurs to him, and Newt leans in to kiss her deeply, bracing himself on one arm. Her hands are on his shoulders and she’s fully occupied with the kiss, relaxed and ready. When he slowly presses into her she only sighs into the kiss and tightens her hands on his shoulders, nails lightly scratching at him and making him shiver again.

She doesn’t seem quite ready for anything rough, and no matter how impassioned Newt is he’s methodical to a fault. He’s a _scientist_. So he takes the time to reach down and draw up her legs a little, canting her hips for a better angle where he’s more certain of hitting that G-spot they’d discussed earlier on, and to at least think of a question if she’s all right.

“Never been better,” she whispers. “I don’t—I’m not sure—it don’t hurt but—”

“Should never hurt,” Newt says gently.

And he rolls his hips, so slow it feels like he’s going to explode. She almost cries out, muffling any sound as she pitches forward to hide her face in the crook of his neck, and he can just make out her telling him not to stop. So he doesn’t, working into a slow and steady rhythm, feeling Queenie clutch ever tighter at his shoulders, trying to meet him halfway with unsure aborted motions of her own hips. Newt doesn’t stop or change what he’s doing, getting the sense from her body alone of what he’s doing right, which appears to be everything. His thoughts are hazy, but pleased, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt better than he does about this.

When she comes this time it’s much less dramatic. She locks up, fingers digging into his shoulder, pulsing around him, and Newt would swear he can _feel_ what she’s feeling, electric and hot, and he has just enough presence of mind to pull out of her before he comes too, with a shuddering sigh.

They fall asleep together, afterwards; Newt helps Queenie out of her underthings so she can put on actual pajamas. He sleeps shirtless, usually, and she doesn’t mind, curling up beside him with a contented smile. They don’t talk much, and there’s no need: of course she can hear his thoughts, and Newt—well, Newt can read her like an open book. He’s not sure, later, if the dreams he has that night are his or hers, or both. Either way, it doesn’t particularly matter.

They’re very good dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> YES, I spent hours researching sexology, because apparently writing smut is hard unless I’m doing it FOR SCIENCE. And this is _well-researched smut_ , okay. 
> 
> Slight time fuckery here. Ernst Gräfenberg would not describe the G-spot in a paper until 1950 (“The role of urethra in female orgasm”, International Journal of Sexology). But dammit, I needed this!...and it means I can't tag for historically accurate smut. I AM SHAMED BY MYSELF.
> 
> [Have a pleasing visual reference for Queenie's underthings](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/dd/06/a7/dd06a76b9176e24ec6f790f77e65d97b--vintage-love-vintage-beauty.jpg).
> 
> Fun story: nudity during sex, at least in the Western world, was not always a standard. Harvey and Weber, in _[Odyssey of the Heart: Close Relationships in the 21st Century](%E2%80%9C)_ , describe the rise of oral sex, more foreplay, deep kissing, and variety of positions. Additionally, and most critically for _this_ fic and Newt stripping, total nudity during sex was also on the rise.


End file.
